“I’m seriously thinking o’ wearin’ pink,” she told him as they turned into the main street. “It’s maybe a wee thing common, but I’ve been told it suits me.” Macgregor wondered who had told her, and stifling his jealousy, observed that pink was a bonny colour.... “But――but ye wud look fine in ony auld thing.” Truly he was beginning to get on. So, at least, Jessie Mary seemed to think. “Nane o’ yer flattery!” she said with a coquettish laugh. “I wud like fine to see ye at the dance,” he said with a sigh. “Come――an’ I’ll gi’e ye a couple o’ dances――three, if I can spare them.” Hitherto Jessie Mary had regarded Macgregor as a mere boy, and sometimes as a bit of a nuisance, but she was the sort of young woman who cannot have too many strings to her bow. “I can get ye a ticket,” she added encouragingly. For an instant it occurred to Macgregor to ask her to let him take her to the dance――he would find the money somehow――but the idea died in its birth. He could not both go to the dance and do that which he had already promised himself to do. Besides, she might laugh at him and refuse. “It’s nae use speakin’ aboot the dance,” he said regretfully. Then abruptly: “Yer birthday’s on Tuesday week, is’t no’?” Jessie Mary looked at him. His eyes were on the pavement. “Wha tell’t ye that?” “I heard ye speakin’ aboot yer birthday to somebody at the picnic.” “My! ye’ve a memory!” “But it’s on Tuesday week――the twinty-third? I was wantin’ to be sure.” “Weel, it’s the twinty-third, sure enough.” She heaved an affected sigh. “Nineteen! I’m gettin’ auld, Macgreegor. Time I was gettin’ a lad! Eh?” She laughed at his confusion of face. “But what for d’ye want to ken aboot ma birthday?” she innocently enquired, becoming graver. The ingenuousness of the question helped him. “Aw, I jist wanted to ken, Jessie Mary. Never heed aboot it. I hope ye’ll enjoy the dance――when it comes.” This was quite a long speech for Macgregor to make, but it might have been even longer had they not just then arrived at the provision shop. “Here we are,” said she cheerfully. She had the decency to ignore the smile of the young man behind the counter――the young man with the sharp nose and exquisite black moustache; nor did she appear to notice another young man on the opposite pavement who was also gazing quite openly at her. “Here we are, an’ here we part――to meet again, I hope,” she added, with a softer glance. “I’ll wait till ye’ve got yer messages,” said Macgregor, holding his ground. She gave him her sweetest smile but one. “Na, Macgreegor; it’ll tak’ me a while to get the messages, an’ I’ve ither places to gang afterwards. Maybe I’ll see ye floatin’ aroun’ anither nicht.” “But I’m no’ in a hurry. I――I wish ye wud let me wait.” Her very sweetest smile was reserved for the most stubborn cases, and she gave it him now. But her voice though gentle was quite firm. “If ye want to please me, Macgreegor, ye’ll no’ wait the nicht.”